


stuck in a moment you can't get out of

by janie_tangerine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dissociation, Droughtjoy 2017, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jon Snow knows something, POV Davos Seaworth, Past Abuse, Poor Theon, Survivor Guilt, Vomiting, Warging, dadvos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Bran wargs inside Theon while Jon and Davos are still in Dragonstone.





	stuck in a moment you can't get out of

**Author's Note:**

> A second fic I wrote for Droughtjoy2017 this summer - the prompt was _Bran warging into Theon to talk with Jon or Dany. he warns them about the Night king. Bran could also warg into Theon to tell Jon to forgive him. Bonus if Theon doesn’t remember anything afterwards, is all confused and has somewhat of a Reek scene, but Jon, or Davos are there to help him_. It's... exactly what it says on the tin as well /o\ and I WISH THE SHOW GAVE US SOMETHING OF THE KIND but yeah haha nope I guess. Anyway: nothing belongs to me (too bad) and the title is from U2. Set in between 7x04 and 7x05. PS: Bran's ethics when it comes to warning are kinda fucked up. /o\

_This_ , Davos thinks,  _is some awkward silence_.

Then again, he can imagine why Jon and Theon Greyjoy would  _not_  be talking to each other, and he doesn’t really know what in the seven hells he could say in order to improve the situation. The dragon queen not being here and Tyrion Lannister being off to  _plan_  for contingencies somewhere aren’t making it any better, and at least Lannister  _could_  maybe coax from them some kind of conversation –

But he has a feeling it’s really not an option without him around, and so Davos eats his – admittedly very good – food and keeps his mouth shut even if there’s a lot he could say about how Greyjoy is barely tasting his meat before shoving it in his mouth, or how he hasn’t refilled his glass yet, and how he’s resolutely looking down at the plate.

He has a feeling Jon might have been harsh on him before, but he knows Jon’s not over his brother’s death and most probably never will be –

The problem is that  _neither is Greyjoy_ , from what Davos has heard during the northern campaign and from what he’s heard  _here_.

Hell, he doesn’t even feel like finishing his food, not with doom and gloom hanging over them like shadows, and it’s not a comparison he makes easily, but he hasn’t grown up in poverty and kept his family afloat in poverty for a hell of a long time to waste a good meal when it’s put in front of him, so he shrugs and goes on.

He has just drunk some of his ale and Jon has cleared his throat and asked him something about  _how long_  does he think this blasted battle might take –

And then Greyjoy’s glass shatters on the ground.

They both turn towards the man – he was holding it mid-air, but now it’s in pieces on the ground and –

And Greyjoy raises his eyes from the table for the first time in his life. To look at Jon.

Except that  _his sockets are rolled completely upwards and his eyes look bloody white._

“Theon?” Jon asks, sounding worried, or maybe he’s scared, or  _both_ , because he’s sure neither of them has ever seen  _this_  happening to anyone.

“Jon,” Greyjoy replies, but his voice is  _weird_. It’s – it has an entire other intonation. “It’s been a long time.”

And then – Davos doesn’t know how to put it, but it sounds like  _his accent is completely different_.

And why would it be  _a long time_  if they just met again a few hours ago? It can’t have been. Unless –

“ _What_?” Jon asks, but he sounds like he recognizes the accent. Or the intonation. Or  _something._

“I am sorry Mother was so unkind to you the day you left,” Theon-Greyjoy-who-does-not-sound-like-himself says, and then Jon’s eyes go wide in understanding and –

“ _Bran_?”

Wait.

That’s supposed to be  _his brother_? That raven did say something about Bran Stark having come back somehow changed, but –

But what sorcery is this?

“Yes,”  _Bran Stark_  apparently replies. “This is not ideal, but it will have to make do. I don’t have much time.”

“But  _how_  –”

“The same way you can see what Ghost does in your dreams,” Bran cuts him. “Now  _listen_. They are nearer. The Long Night is coming. When Daenerys is back, you  _have_  to convince her to be faster. We don’t have much time.  _You_  don’t have much time. The Night King is almost at the Wall and you really will only have a graveyard to rule upon should you act too late.” He stops, breathes, then – “And you need to come back to Winterfell as soon as you can. There are  _things_ you should know, but I cannot tell them to you where anyone could hear.”

“I – if I could I wound –”

“Worry about the Night King first. Or we all die. But I do hope we can talk in person, soon. I did  _this_  because I thought it would be more effective than ravens. Or faster.”

“Bran,  _wait_  –”

“I cannot do this for long. But – Jon, I think you can forgive him already.”

“Who, Theon?”

“Ask him what he thinks of the Red Wedding. I will see you soon,”  _Bran Stark_  says, and then Greyjoy’s chest spasm once, twice, his eyes seem to roll downwards and upwards again and then he shakes so hard he’d have fallen off the chair if Davos hadn’t stood up and grabbed his shoulder.

Which then he lets go as if it burns because Greyjoy stands up abruptly, kicks the chair with a sort of desperate strength that Davos hadn’t honestly expected, and then –

Then he opens his eyes, and at least they’re back to their usual color, but he looks up at them as if he doesn’t recognize  _either_  of them and he stumbles towards the wall –

And then he kneels down and throws up what looks like his entire dinner, which isn’t a very long affair since he had eaten little, but then he keeps on dry-heaving, and at the same time he sounds like he’s trying to not be noisy, from the way his voice goes down whenever a groan comes out of his throat.

Jon sends Davos a completely baffled look and Davos is fairly sure that the one he shoots back has to be equally baffled.  _What sorcery is this,_ he thinks for the umpteenth time –

And then he hears a noise from Greyjoy that’s definitely  _not_  a groan.

It sounded like a sob.

“What –” Jon starts, and then Greyjoy  _flinches_  openly and keeps his head bent down.

“M’lord,” he says, and now he sounds like himself but so deferential it makes  _Davos_  want to flinch. “I – apologies.”

_Seven hells, what is that_?

“Theon –” Jon says again, and at that Greyjoy’s entire frame goes  _still_ and he scrambles back against the wall, his fingers pressing over the ground, and he’s obviously not wantingto look up at them but forcing himself to and – is he  _crying_?

“No,” he says, with such a small voice Davos barely even recognize. “It’s not. Not anymore.”

“It’s  _not_ ,” Jon repeats. Greyjoy flinches all over again.

“Please. Don’t. Don’t use that. I –  _he_  won’t – it’s Reek.”

Davos doesn’t know if he’s more horrified by  _that_  or by the fact that a moment later the man mutter something about how that word rhymes with a few other ones, none of which is a choice he likes ( _weak_?  _Freak_?) or by the fact that Greyjoy’s openly crying and hasn’t even seemed to acknowledge it for a second.

Then –

“Jon,” he whispers, “did your sister ever tell you  _exactly_  what the hell did Bolton’s bastard do to him before they escaped?”

“She never went into details,” Jon replies, “but from what she said – she said Bolton called him like  _that_ , but I’m not too sure she knew in depth.”

“ _Please_ ,” Greyjoy blurts, “please don’t tell  _him_.”

Ah, damn. He must have heard them making Bolton’s name, hasn’t he?

Before either of them can tell him that they won’t, he seems to notice that he  _has_  indeed thrown up in the corner, and at that his face becomes so pale it borders on ashen.

“I – I didn’t mean to – I’m  _sorry_  –” He sobs, and –

“Jon, I’m getting him out,” Davos decides.

“Go to my room, it’s closer,” he replies. “I’ll find someone to clean this up and then I’m coming.”

“Right.”

Davos doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do here, but he has a feeling getting the lad out wouldn’t be a bad starting point.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing Theon’s arm. He goes without even resisting.

_What in the Seven hells_.  
  
“Come on, we’re getting out.”

“As m’lord wishes.”

Davos doesn’t know if  _that_  creeps him out more than Bran Stark’s earlier sorcery.

He just drags Theon out and they stumble along until they reach Jon’s room, and by then the lad’s trembling like a leaf and Davos feels like a proper arsehole for not asking permission before dragging the man along, but he has a feeling the answer would have been  _yes_  anyway.

He leaves Theon’s arm just when he’s sitting on the bed.

Then he considers what in the seven hells he should do, and then he wonders –

_Has anyone actually told him that Bolton’s dead_?

“Theon,” he says, trying to not give into the urge of grabbing the man’s shoulders.

“M’lord, it’s not –”

“ _Theon_ ,” he goes on, “I don’t have a clue of what’s going on here, but you’re in Dragonstone and Ramsay Bolton is  _dead_.”

_That_  seems to at least stop  _somehow_  whatever the hell’s going on here, because suddenly Theon’s eyes seems slightly more focused and he doesn’t hold himself so still anymore even if his hands are shaking.

“He’s… dead?”

Davos is sure the last time he heard someone speaking with such a small voice it was his son, when he was  _seven_ , and riding out a fairly bad fever.

“Sansa and Jon took Winterfell again. They killed him. A while ago. Yes, he’s dead.”

He’s expecting at least an,  _and who are you_  in reply, but – it never comes. Theon just  _stares_  at him, and then –

“ _What is happening to me_?” He blurts, and he looks like he’s about to cry again.

Davos fucking wishes he  _knew_.

“How are you feeling?” He asks instead.

“I don’t  _know_ ,” Theon sobs. “It’s  _cold_  and if I look down at my hands it feels like they belong to someone else and I feel like throwing up but I already did and  _I don’t remember_  and it was the same in the water and I  _didn’t_  want to leave her –”

“Wait,  _who_?”

“My  _sister_ ,” Theon goes on. “But I – my uncle had a knife to her throat and there was too much blood and I thought he was  _him_  and I couldn’t – I just couldn’t – why didn’t I die with her?”

Davos risks touching the lad’s arm. Nothing  _bad_  happens.

How the hell do you explain  _someone else used your body to talk to Jon?_

“Because then  _the both of you_  would be dead and as far as we know your sister is  _not_ ,” Davos says. “Seems to me like at least now you have a second chance –”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I shouldn’t – I should’ve died with  _him_ , instead. A long time ago.”

With  _him_  –

“Shit,” Jon says from behind Davos, locking the door softly, “ _shit_.”

Theon doesn’t seem to hear him, though.

“ _Why_  didn’t I?”

Davos turns his head slightly. “Do you know –” He whispers.

“I don’t think I have to ask him about the Red Wedding,” Jon sighs.

Theon is still shaking all over.

Davos thinks, distinctly,  _fuck this_ , and then tugs him forward and sees if giving the lad a damned hug like he has been itching to might actually work out, never mind that they barely introduced each other, but someone has to do  _something_ , and he hadn’t known what to expect but not for Theon to pretty much sag against him in what feels like utter relief. And then he goes tense again when he sees Jon looking at him from over Davos’s shoulder, but then Jon takes a deep,  _loud_  breath.

“Bolton’s dead,” he says. “I punched him hard enough his entire face was caked in blood and Sansa took care of the rest. I’m sorry it seems like no one told you before.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Theon says, but at least now he sounds calmer. Even if he’s really not trying to get out of Davos’s grip.

“I  _am_. Someone should have thought of it. And – before – never mind. I’ll explain you what happened in a moment. Just – you’re not the only one who wishes he had been with  _him_.”

Davos wonders if his destiny is being surrounded by people with a penchant from self-destruction.

“I haven’t even met the man in person,” he says, “and from what I’ve heard of him, I have great doubts that he’d have wanted  _either_  of you to die in a massacre. You might reconsider this almighty need for a death wish.”

Jon snorts openly, and he doesn’t know if Theon’s doing the same, but he’s not crying at least.

“And I think you both need to talk without me in the room,” he says.

“I think,” Jon stops him before he can move away, but instead slipping in his place and motioning for him to  _not_  go, “that you’re right, but you can stay if you like.”

“Just to make sure someone is here to talk some sense,” Davos say, letting Jon take his place.

He notices that after a moment of complete bafflement Theon  _does_  let Jon hold him up, way more gently than anyone might have guessed from how their meeting went this morning.

Davos smirks and moves back, slightly, and thinks of how horrid it must feel to have someone control you from the inside, and even if this is eventually turning out good and he can see that Jon’s alsocrying a bit, which can only be good for him since Davos has rarelyseen him let go with his emotions –

He kind of really,  _really_  hopes Bran Stark isn’t considering using anyone else as his mouthpiece at any point soon.

Or ever.

 

 

End.


End file.
